The three legendary generals of the Nara Era attacked at the same time. Haruto's spear whistled as a red flame shot out of it, Ryu shot an arrow that multiplied into frozen shards raining down on Yorimitu.
Takeshi swung his great sword, descending like a falling mountain.
"He is done for," someone in the stands said.
Yorimistu let Dōjigiri hang low in his grip, but his free hand moved with the fluid precision of a temple priest.
His fingers entwined in a complex Buddhist Mudra, the "Kuji-in" of the fire realm.
"By the light that birthed the stars and the heat that dwells in the marrow of man," Yorimitsu's voice shifted, vibrating with a deep, tectonic power. "I call on the Flames of hellfire!"
Whoosh!
Five massive spheres of orange-hot, ethereal flame erupted around Yorimitsu, each appearing one after another.
Bush!
Bush!
Bush!
.....
They all crackled as they came to life, roaring and pulsing like five miniature suns.
The coordinated assault hit the barrier of fire simultaneously:
Haruto's spear struck the first sphere, its vibrating heat meeting a superior, living inferno that melted the ghostly iron instantly.
Ryu's frost-arrows vaporised into a cloud of steam before they could even touch Yorimitsu's robes.
Takeshi's mountain-breaking tachi was caught between two spheres, the jade armour of the ghost blackening and cracking under the sheer intensity.
The crowd stood as one, the silence broken by a frantic, terrified whispering that swept through the stands like a gale.
"Those flames... they seem greater than the last time I saw them," a noble gasped, his face pale in the white light. "The Willo' Fire of the Minamoto! The flames of life, they burnt the northern demons for centuries, it's them... the legendary flames of kita!"
Yorimitsu ignored the awe. His focus was entirely on the three legends.
He placed his thumb against the guard of Dōjigiri.
Click.
The blade didn't even leave the scabbard fully, just a three-inch flash of cold, dark steel. In that microsecond, a wave of Absolute Silence swallowed the arena, drowning out Michinaga's flute and the roar of the fire.
Yorimitsu's movement was a blur of conceptual violence. There was no sound of cutting flesh, only the sharp Ting of the blade reseating into the scabbard.
Snap.
For a heartbeat, the three generals remained frozen, their weapons raised. Then, simultaneously, the ankles of all three legends disintegrated into black ash.
Haruto, Ryu, and Takeshi collapsed.
They rattled a little trying to push forward in the stumps of where their legs used to be, but then the orange flames that were burning on their stumps flurried, consuming them whole.
The magnificent armour clattered onto the white sand; the ghostly bodies dissolved into the necrotic fog from which they had risen.
Yorimitsu stood in the centre of the smoking sand, his hand still resting on the hilt of the closed blade. He looked at Michinaga, whose flute was still pressed to his lips, though no sound was coming out.
"How! How did you do it? They are legendary figures who fought against gods; it can't be, there is no way you would win." his hands were shaking as he stepped back.
"True, they were great fighters in their prime, but now they are just hollow shells of their previous splendour. Your half-witted ritual couldn't even draw a fraction of their power," Yorimitsu said coldly.
Tannng!
The shamisen in the gallery struck a violent, desperate chord, attempting to restart the heartbeat of the arena. The sound wave rippled through the air like a physical blade, aimed directly at Yorimitsu's neck.
Yorimitsu didn't even turn his head. He swung the Dōjigiri still locked tight in its heavy wood-bound scabbard in a short, brutal arc.
The blunt wood and iron met the invisible sound wave with a sickening crunch. The air reverberated like glass, the backing band's music shattering against the sheer weight of Dōjigiri's spiritual presence.
Yorimitsu brought his left hand up to his face. His thumb, index, and middle fingers snapped into a Three-Finger Mudra Lock, a high-level Onmyōdo seal.
"Songs of Jigin: Outer Silence."
A translucent ripple expanded from his feet, forming a shimmering barrier that hung two inches from his skin. Outside, the world was a cacophony of drums and flutes; inside the barrier, there was nothing but the sound of his own steady breathing.
He began to walk forward. Every step was heavy, deliberate, and terrifying. Michinaga's eyes widened, his fingers fumbling over the bamboo holes of his flute.
"I've seen through your stage play, Michinaga," Yorimitsu said, his voice carrying clearly despite the barrier. "The flute, the shamisen, and the way you summoned the 'Three Stars'… It's not a technique you should be able to pull off at your level. It's a full Shinto Ritual of Ascension. You've been using the rhythm to artificially inflate your Reiryoku, syncing your pulse to the music to trick me into thinking you're stronger than you are."
Yorimitsu's eyes narrowed, a cold smirk touching his lips. "That's why your tricks worked even though my presence is higher than yours. Before the fight began, you had planned out your victory, trying to drown me in a lie, and I almost fell for it. But a lie only has weight as the one backing it, and you have no weight."
Yorimitsu reached out into the air. The five spheres of white-hot Flames that had been defending him suddenly surged forward, swirling around his outstretched arm.
The fire began to solidify, weaving itself into the shape of a massive, glowing longbow. A single arrow of condensed solar heat notched itself against the string, the tip pointed directly at Michinaga's trembling heart.
The heat was so intense that the gold filigree on Michinaga's robes began to melt. The Fujiwara boy dropped his flute, his radiant Aura flickering out like a dying candle.
"Tell me, Michinaga," Yorimitsu asked, the bow-string humming with lethal intent. "One strike determines the match. If I let this fly, there won't be enough of you left for a funeral."
"The music array that you were using isn't that... against the rules?"
The arena was so quiet that the sound of a single drop of sweat falling from Michinaga's chin and hitting the sand sounded like a hammer blow.
"Please!" Michinaga said, tears falling down his face.